


The Girl Who Couldn't Sing Along

by dinobot_47



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-20
Updated: 1998-09-20
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinobot_47/pseuds/dinobot_47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen minutes in the life of Ezri Dax after her arrival on DS9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girl Who Couldn't Sing Along

**Author's Note:**

> This was the very first fanfic ever written about Ezri Dax, even before she appeared on the show.

Ezri Dax's legs thrashed, kicking soapy water everywhere, splattering the floor and walls with more stains, her head and arms beating an arrhythmic tattoo against the rim of her bathtub. In the eyes of anyone unfamiliar with Trill physiognomy, Dax would appear to be suffering a grand mal epileptic seizure. That interpretation could not be any further from the truth. Ezri was arguing with her symbiont.

It had only been three weeks since her joining, and she was not adapting very well. The voices in her head, the new, inexplicable personality traits, behavioural anomalies that she never had and new body language, she couldn't stand any of it.

So she yelled at her symbiont.

Most of the time, it would argue back. She had only recently been joined, they would say, and should understand that some of the most prominent Trills in history had not chosen to be bonded with their symbiont. Why, even the First Joined had had the sessile creature forced inside her.

It would be a learning experience. She should not fight. It wasn't polite, argued Dax, and it simply wasn't proper to show this side of their society to aliens.

Ezri had heard that argument so many times that she felt she might go insane. To prevent that, she simply forced her symbiont to shut up.

Some joined Trill could distance their humanoid consciousness from their symbiont's. A few could not. Ezri was one of the latter, and when she tried to, she suffered from her pseudo-seizures.

The bruises and the mess never bothered her, for she believed in her heart of hearts that she would one day convince Dax that she was right and it was wrong. On that day, it would finally learn to keep its opinions to itself. (That will be the day we receive a _host_ transplant,) Curzon said, his dour voice tinted with anger.

(Wouldn't that be _wonderful_ ,) Jadzia said wistfully, (We might actually get a host with more than two brain cells to rub together)

"Shut up," she screamed, her voice hoarse, "just shut up, all of you!" She pounded on her abdomen, short nails tearing at a newly healed scar, stretched a vivid red against her pale skin. Tearing out her symbiont would condemn them both, but it would be worth it to be free of the voices, if only for a few hours. 

The edge of a fingernail caught on the scar tissue and tore a strip of flesh off her belly. Blood began to ooze from the wound into the dirty bathwater. She began to dig her nails into the raw flesh, frantically trying to dig down to the symbiont. They wouldn't stop her, not this time...

(Oh, Ezri, don't.) Lela. The only voice Ezri could marginally tolerate. The chipper old battle-axe reminded Ezri of her mother. (My dear, you cannot go out that way, bleeding to death in your bathtub. If you _do_ do yourself in, at least pick a more spectacular way to go out.)

Sometimes, she sounded too much like her mother.

(You can't, you can't. I won't let you die!) Jadzia, Ezri's predecessor. Ever since her death only a month ago, she had become insufferable. She had made it her goal since then to ensure that everyone, but especially Ezri, experienced even a fraction of the suffering she endured. (I have...things I have to tie up before you can die.)

"You mean killing Dukat and having Worf get me pregnant." Ezri said, stating what had been breathtakingly obvious since Jadzia's voice joined the choir of the symbiont. Kill Dukat and have Worf's child were the only thoughts Ezri had heard from Jadzia since she was joined to Dax.

(Exactly,) Jadzia nodded in confirmation.

"That's what I don't get about all of this," continued Ezri, "I mean, why do you want to kill Dukat?"

(Yeah, all he did was zap her with an energy beam, [techno-babble]. And she was robbed of any chance at survival when Bashir was forced to remove the symbiont,) Verad drawled in sarcasm. (What's so bad about that?)

(He murdered me,) Jadzia sneered in reply.

"He was possessed when he killed you, Ezri interrupted, seemingly oblivious to Jadzia's anger. In truth, she enjoyed toying with Jadzia. She relished the thought of the Perfect One lowered to such depths just because she was murdered. "Jadzia, Arandis killed Curzon and he doesn't want to see her dead."

(That's different,) the old man said hotly, (I was in the throes of jamaharon. Jadzia was murdered because she got in Dukat's way.)

"It's not different," she replied sweetly, "Dukat was possessed by one of those pah-wraith things. You should bear your grudge against that. It should have been obvious even to you, Jadzia. How many Cardassians do you know of that can shoot beams of energy out of their hands?" She said, stepping out of the bath and pulling a thick robe over her naked, soapy figure.

(Ezri.) Lela, using a tone Ezri thought only her mother had a patent on. Concerned scolding. (You should rinse that soap off. It's horrible for your skin.)

"Whatever. I wipe it off before I put my uniform on."

(You changed the subject,) Jadzia said. Ezri rolled her eyes. (Always you, isn't it, Jadzia. You might be dead, but in your eyes, you're still the host,) she thought to herself in that small part of her mind that was still _hers_.

Out loud, she replied simply, "I didn't. Lela did." The _only_ thing she enjoyed more than upsetting Jadzia was pitting parts of her symbiont against itself. When they fought amongst themselves, Ezri was free to do what she wanted to, without their interference.

(Ezri,) Audrid started, (Why do you mock Jadzia's desire to have Worf's child?)

"I'm not," Ezri stuttered in defence. "If Worf got _me_ pregnant, it wouldn't be her child, it would be mine."

(It's parentage is unimportant. Jadzia desires Worf's child. I dpoubt she would care if it were your DNA instead of hers that contributed to it's development.)

"Oh, First Joined," Ezri groaned. "Audrid, could we please agree not to discuss this issue ever again?" Audrid did not reply, and Ezri simply rolled her eyes.

The bathroom door opened, and Ezri stepped through. She stopped in mid- stride at the sight of the man she hated the most. Worf, Jadzia's husband, was standing in her living room as if he owned it. In his eyes, he lived with her. In his eyes, they were still married, a fact which pleased Jadzia to no end.

Every night she changed her lock codes, and every night the symbiont would take control and send Worf the codes, with an invitation to visit. Whenever she would try to change the codes before the 'designated' time, her hands would suddenly stop working.

Her quarters, as small as they were, were no longer hers, nor was her mind. (Oh, Worf!) Jadzia thought in delight, and Ezri had to clamp her lips shut to prevent Jadzia from speaking those words out loud.

"Get out!" She screamed. "Get out, _get out_ , GET OUT!" She bellowed those two words until she could feel the station vibrate under her feet. Loud enough so that even that thick-skulled Klingon would finally understand that she hated him.

"Dax!" He exclaimed, his voice filled with more warmth than he had ever shown Jadzia. It made Jadzia jealous, but it was not the kind of emotion Ezri wanted to encourage in the recently deceased woman.

"I'm not Dax," she stated calmly, clearly. She would have bellowed it, screamed until her voice was hoarse, but in one of Curzon's few moments of sympathy, he had explained that using such tones with a Klingon meant one was attracted to them. The last thing she wanted to do was to encourage Worf, it would only serve to increase the number of times he visited her quarters. Twice a day was more than she could handle.

(We could knock him unconscious and drag him into the corridor,) Joran suggested. He was one of her least talkative voices, and for that, she was grateful. He frightened her with his temper and the grudges he held against the Universe.

(Jadzia is an expert in Klingon martial arts. Emony can fight better than most soldiers I know. Curzon wasn't so bad himself, when he was younger,) he continued, his silken voice whispering in her ear. (I don't have such a bad aim myself.

(We can still do it even if they don't want to. All we need is a heavy object...Hm, like that stone carving. Smash it into his head, he would drop like a rock)

"But that's a family heirloom!" She protested. "It would break... It would shatter Worf's skull!" She wouldn't let him break the icon, even if she had to resort to calling upon the _others_ for support. The statuette had belonged to Ezri's grandmother, passed down from generation to generation over a period of nearly five hundred years. It had been passed down to Ezri after her grandmother's death, and she had had it shipped to the station soon after she had arrived.

It was _hers_ , the only possession in a room full of antiques and mementoes that truly belonged to her. They would _not_ be allowed to break it.

Somehow, she knew that a knife would be more effective, would inflict more damage, but for the life of her, she could not remember _why_.

(It would be worth it for the drip, drip...drip, drip of Worf's blood and brains draining out of his fractured skull. You would be rid of him...Wouldn't it be worth it?)

"I'm not killing anyone," she shouted, driving the heels of her hands into her temples until the room began to spin.

(You wouldn't even be convicted, if that's what you're afraid of! All you would have to do would be to say your symbiont made you do it. That part, at least, is true. And when Trill authorities conduct a zhian'tara to question all the personalities, I can guarantee that everyone will come across as mad. You'll be lucky if they let you keep even half of us!)

It was the ultimate punishment for a deviant voice in the symbiont. The errant personality was transferred, using the zhian'tara ritual, from the symbiont to a very dead corpse, usually that of the former host if it was still available. (They should have done that with you,) Torias grumbled. 

(They didn't, mine predecessor, for a very good reason!) Joran chortled, (for when I was murdered by our dear symbiosis commission, the technique hadn't been developed yet. It was invented a year after Jadzia had the...mercy to integrate me with the symbiont's personalities. She was the one who drew me out of a fog of hidden memories. We have her to thank for my presence.)

(How unfortunate that Jadzia was so noble. I certainly wouldn't have done that,) Curzon interjected. (Yes, how!) Joran said, his braying laugh echoing throughout Ezri's mind. (Poor symbiosis commission, couldn't get rid of me. They were thwarted at every turn by the one they sought to protect!)

(Do not mock them,) Audrid interjected. Her voice held a quiet fury Ezri recognized quite well. She had been subjected to it whenever she dared mock Jadzia's desire for children.

(I am not mocking them, my dear commissioner. I would never _dare_ do that. I have the greatest respect for our people's ultimate power. Why, if it were not for them, I would be dead now. They have granted me immortality...stuck with the lot of you,) he grumbled, (but immortal, nonetheless)

"Joran, don't fight," Ezri started.

(Oh, Ezri, I thought you liked it when we fought.) Had he been flesh at that moment, she knew he would have been pouting and verging on tears. He was an excellent actor. How else could he have fooled the symbiosis commission all those years ago?

(He committed fraud. He falsified records,) Audrid retorted. (He lied to the initiate commission and he used his talents as a musician as leverage. His...modest fame as a composer influenced his evaluators.)

"Oh, Audrid, lay off Joran. Joran, leave her and Torias alone. Can we please get back to how I can get Worf out of my quarters?"

(You know what's always helped me think,) Tobin stated in a rare moment of courage. (A good glass of iced spice tea.)

(Tobin, I bless the day you introduced me to that!) Torias grinned. (You all remember it? It's this sour liquid you can only find in one tiny little province on all of Trill.)

(...Or make it yourself in your lab,) Jadzia said shyly, as the others chimed in their agreement. Bile rose in Ezri's throat in resentment. _Of course_ Jadzia knew how to prepare rare foods from chemicals Ezri couldn't pronounce. She could also probably rebuilt a starship from scrap , and must have survived through the Academy without developing an addiction to caffeine.

Emony's voice cut through the chaos. (No matter if you like or dislike the issue at hand, we must help Ezri. We are her symbiont, she is our host. It is our most sacred duty to ensure that she lives an exiting and fulfilling life. The most vital issue now is that of Worf. as soon as he loses interest in her, she will be able to find a more suitable mate.)

General grumbling emerged from Jadzia's corner, but suggestions began to come in, a mere trickle of ideas.

(Go back to the bathroom and hope he leaves?)

(Ignore him)

(I just said that, stupid)

(Oh)

(Scare him away)

(Hurt him)

(Reason with him)

(Um...you could, um, tell him...like, politely)

(Make love to him!)

(and them throw that icon at him!)

"Joran, Jadzia, no. I'm not hurting--or screwing--anyone," She replied in exasperation, raking her fingers through her short, spiky black hair. "I just want him out of my quarters." 

(You really ought to grow it out,) Emony said, a propos of nothing.

"What?! What does that have to do with anything?"

(Your hair, and I just thought you would look much nicer if it were shoulder-length, or at the very lest came down to your earlobes.)

"Why don't I just shave my head, would _that_ shut you up?"

(That would look nice too. Um...so long as you have a symmetrical skull.)

"If I'm stuck with the lot of you inside my head, you might at least help me with real problems. How do I get rid of Worf?"

The choir's voices grew, melding with each other. A deep bass contrasting with a light alto, a baritone joining in at odd moments, and a backup of low, indistinct singing. Their melody swept through Ezri's mind and for a moment, she was singing, her voice out of key. They always stayed ahead of her, her voice never being able to anticipate theirs.

**Throw the carving at him,** the voices ordered. She wrapped her fingers around the crude stone idol and hefted it above her head. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears and she nearly tasted the adrenaline pumping through her system. The chorus of voices became one, drawing her under their influence.

If she threw the carving at Worf, for a moment, she knew she would be welcome. She would become part of the choir, her voice would resonate with theirs.

A grunt passed her lips, and she felt the carving being lifted from her hands. It crashed into the wall only millimetres from Worf's head, shattering into millions of tiny fragments.

She bared her teeth at him and growled, simply because Curzon told her to. Emotions Ezri couldn't recognize flashed across Worf's face. He fled the room, and she crumpled to the floor in exhaustion. 

And suddenly, the carving thrown, Worf gone, she remembered what a growl meant to a Klingon. She knew the emotions that had passed over Worf's face before he fled.

She felt used.

She _was_ used, a puppet in the machinations of her voices.

"Is that what I am," she said bitterly, her voice shaking with a repressed sob, "just some toy you can use to further objectives you never achieved in your lifetimes?"

The choir did not deign the question answerable. After all, it was obvious.


End file.
